Hair of the Dog
by i.paint.the.sky
Summary: One night, Laura and Bill think about Bill's rapid descent into alcoholism. Set late in the 4.5 season.


[A/N: While I was quite happy playing around in season one, I got this plotbunny for something darker and in the 4.5 season and just had to go with it. Darn those insistent plotbunnies.

Set somewhere around Deadlock.]

* * *

Hair of the Dog

It didn't happen overnight. These things never did. But looking back, the signs were all there for Laura to see, all the reasons in plain sight. That didn't make it any easier for her to witness.

She'd lost track of how much she'd seen Bill drink tonight. She'd taken at least one glass away from him but that only led to drinking straight from the bottle. Which was looking quite a bit emptier than it had a few hours ago. She looked over at the clock; it was nearing midnight now. That explained a lot.

"Bill," she called out, her voice dry and cracking.

He shifted in the couch to look towards where she sat, behind his desk. "Yeah?" Even in one word, his voice revealed that he was drunk.

"It's getting late."

With a grunt, he slowly got to his feet. "So it is," he slurred, walking over to put the bottle back where it belonged. Laura winced as he took once last gulp.

She rested her hands on the desk, standing up herself and trying to ignore how much her arms shook with the effort. She was glad she'd already changed into her nightgown and so could just go collapse into the rack. She took a deep breathe before lifting her hands and beginning the short, yet arduous, trip over towards it. Bill was not far behind her, clumsily undressing. She hoped he would not need any help tonight.

A few shaky steps later she reached her destination, quickly moving to lie down next to the wall. Bill soon joined her, his bulk pressing against her body. No matter how dark things looked, she always felt so safe, cocooned between him and the bulkhead.

Lips pressed against the back of her neck. "I love you," he whispered.

Laura smiled, taking hold of his arm and pulling it around her midriff. "Goodnight, Bill."

She closed her eyes tight, trying to block out everything but this moment. No thinking about how the ship was falling apart around them. No thinking about the always volatile situation with the Cylons, allies or otherwise. No thinking about how a drunk driver had killed her family. No thinking about the fact that she was dying.

It worked. It worked because these moments were worth all the darker times. They made her remember the only thing that really mattered: she loved him and he loved her. And that thought held her tongue tonight and all the other times when she wanted to say something.

She knew that as much as this was hurting her – as much as watching him fall apart broke her heart – he was always hurting so much more. Everyone needed him so much, herself included. Laura knew from experience how heavy the burden of constant expectation was.

And so she promised herself once again that she would back down for another day. That come tomorrow night, if this happened again – when it happened again – she would be there to support him without voicing judgement. She might not be able to keep herself from thinking it but she would not cross that line. She had never been one to back down from a fight, as long as she thought she could win it (_you're so afraid to live alone_) but she would never start that one.

She loved him too much.

*

It didn't happen overnight. These things never did. Still, looking back, Bill couldn't quite figure out how it had come to this. Especially after all those years watching Saul go down this road. All the years of watching, wishing there was something to do.

Now Saul was sober and he wasn't. The irony was not lost on him, drunken or otherwise. He looked at the bottle, squinting in a failed attempt to make it less blurry. He remembered how full it had been earlier. He must have had more than he realized.

"Bill." He barely heard Laura, her voice was so soft. He shifted in the couch to look over toward her.

"Yeah?" He was glad to hear that his voice sounded steady.

"It's getting late."

With a grunt, he slowly got to his feet. "So it is," he said, his voice less steady this time. He walked over to put the bottle away, taking one last sip before he did. He didn't even wince as the burning sensation passed down his throat.

He turned back towards the rack, his fingers struggling with the buttons of his uniform. Laura was standing up now; he couldn't help but notice how much her arms shook with the effort. He kept working at his clothing, hoping he wouldn't need help tonight. Thankfully muscle memory or something kicked in and soon his jacket was on the floor. Not the best place for it but right now he didn't frakking care. His unsteady hands had done their job; his unsteady feet too, as he now found himself beside the rack.

Laura was already lying in it, facing the wall. He stood and looked at her for a moment. She was so beautiful, so wonderful, so perfect. She was so…Laura. He couldn't think of any other word that summed her up half as well.

He slowly got on the bed, careful not to jostle her. He moved to lie beside her gently, revelling in how wonderful it felt to have her body next to his. He pressed his lips against the back of her neck; whispered, "I love you."

He could tell she was smiling as she pulled his arm around her. "Goodnight, Bill."

He watched her, trying to block out everything but this moment. No thinking about his ship and his crew falling apart around them. No thinking about the Cylons and all their drama, allies or otherwise. No thinking about how he was destroying himself, self-medicating with booze and worse. No thinking about how she was dying in his arms.

It worked. When they were together, in this quiet, wonderful solitude, he could focus on the only thing that really mattered: He loved her and she loved him. They would get through this; beat the odds like they had done consistently for three years. They would get through it together.

He needed so much from her, maybe too much. But her and the booze were the only solaces he had left to combat the burden of constant expectation. Which was another irony, since he knew she didn't approve of his drinking. He had seen the looks she thought she hid from him.

But she never said a thing and for that he was profoundly grateful. He knew how difficult it must be for her to back down from a fight, especially since she rarely lost them, but something kept her from pressing this time. Kept their tempers in check (_and you're afraid to die that way_) so that no one got hurt this time. Avoiding things may not be the healthiest of responses but it was the safest. He never wanted to hurt her ever again.

He loved her too much.


End file.
